Only a Twin
by Jecir
Summary: They all claimed to understand, but how could they? They were not a twin. They had not lived their lives as one half to a whole. No one understood his pain. No one. DH Spoilers. George Weasley Centric.


Only a Twin…

By: Jecir

The sun was setting over the green country hills. George Weasley stood silently at the crest, the fading light outlining his eternally scarred profile. One ear instead of two; a foreshadowing omen. He will never be whole again. They would never be two of one again. A stray tear—one of many—slid down his pale cheek, landing on the loose soil covering his brother's grave. They had buried him on top of a hill near the Burrow so he could be close to his family. George was suddenly very grateful that he lived in Diagon Alley. If he had to wake up every morning to this…

The funeral had been that morning. Everyone came. Harry held Ginny; Hermione with Ron; and his mother crying loudly through it all. Angelina and Katie, Oliver and Lee stayed with him. At the end, everyone wanted to shake his hand, hug him, tell him that it would be ok. He was fine with that. He endured it with a cool smile. Yet, his mask nearly faltered each time someone said, "I understand."

George clenched his fist. How could they understand? How many of them lived their lives as one half to a soul? How could they—those of one being, of one body, of one mind not shared—even comprehend, for a second, the pain he felt? The hollow void that was half his heart eternally ripped out? No. They would never understand. They were not a twin.

George tried to hold onto the pride, the pride of a Gryffindor, the pride of one related to a hero—and yes, Fred Weasley would forever be proclaimed a hero of the final war against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named—but he couldn't. His brother would always be just that, his brother. His best friend. His other half. His mirror image. His twin. The tears continued to trickle unhindered. No one understood.

A loud _CRACK_ broke through the silence of the hill top. George jerked around, his wand coming to his hand before he could think.

At the top of the next hill, the sun at her back, stood a girl dressed in long black robes with dark green lining. Red highlights were reflected in her short dark hair, and lavender eyes seemed to burn in the dying light. Her pale hands were clutching the handles of a wheelchair. Within, sat another girl. She, too, was dressed in black robes, hers with golden lining. Her hair contained no highlights and fell past her shoulders in dark waves, yet the same lavender eyes glowed at him from her pale face. Identical faces watched him. George blinked once, confused, as, slowly, they made their way to him.

George watched, transfixed, as they moved past him without a word and stopped at the edge of the grave. He recognized them; not by name or face but by reputation. They were Hogwarts students, known only as the twins separated, like black and white, into Slytherin and Hufflepuff. What were they doing here?

The Slytherin took two roses from her sister's hands, one black and one purple, and laid them on the grave. She knelt, and together, they folded their hands to pray.

Another _CRACK_ announced another visitor. Parvati and her sister, Padma, both dressed in formal Bali gowns, walked timidly to the grave, a wreath of forget-me-nots in their tan hands. They reached the grave just as the first two finished their prayer. They laid the wreath over the stone and bowed their heads in respect.

The first twin stood and dusted off her robes before turning to him. George gazed down at her, confusion on his face. What were they doing there? He wanted to know, but before he could ask, he felt her arms wrapping around him, pulling him down into a comforting hug. With great conviction, she whispered, "_I_ understand."

Those two words, words he had hated, washed over him, moving past his defenses and infiltrating the darkest recesses of his heart. Those two words brought forth the tears he had been hiding, the tears that had only trickled but now began to pour from his eyes. His fists tightened in her robes and his knees gave out. He sank to the ground, crying unabashed, in the arms of a stranger.

Over his cries, more _CRACKS_ came, and more twins appeared. Some old, some young, all called on common purpose: to comfort one of their own. They came with flowers, gifts, and eternal respect for the twin that was sacrificed and the twin that remained. When George lifted his head, he saw ten different pairs all watching him with the deepest remorse and deeper understanding.

The Slytherin pulled away, to be replaced by Padma and Parvati. Both hugged him and whispered their condolences. "He was a shining star in the D.A.!" Parvati said proudly.

A pair of old men dressed in expensive robes helped him up before each shaking his hand. "Keep your chin up!" said one. "That's what he would have wanted."

Twin Aurors followed. "I heard your brother on _Potterwatch_," said one, a soft smile on his grizzled face. "He was very brave to speak out like that."

George nodded, not certain what to say. Fred was just like that. He never let anything scare him.

Two women from the Ministry followed, each giving him a small gift and a short hug. Two from the north, and two from Wales. And even two from Ireland. They had all come, heading the call of a twin in need, led by the unknown Slytherin and her paralyzed sister.

She was the last one left. Watching from the edge of the grave, her hair falling neatly around her tear-stained face, she smiled softly. "I know we never met. And I know we didn't really know Fred, but…" She trailed off, as if unsure of her next words.

Her sister stepped up. "But we all understand, none the less. Here," she pointed at her heart, "and here," she pointed at his, "it is the same. So…um…"

"We just knew we had to come," her sister finished.

Around him, the others agreed.

George was overwhelmed; he didn't know what to say. Suddenly, the pain was not so unbearable. Suddenly, he was not so alone. The haze of agony began to clear in the light of their understanding, and then he saw it, his brother's face, shining brightly, alive and happy. And George knew it would be ok.

For who knew how to ease the pain of a twin better than another twin?

Author's Note:

When I read Fred's death scene, I cried for nearly an hour. My heart was broken, and what made it worse was that no one understood why. Only my twin sister understood. Identical twins share a bond no one other than other identical twins understand. THat is where this fic was born, in side that knowledge. Who could possibly comfort George? Only another twin. I hope you liked it. Reviews are love.

Long live Fred Weasley!


End file.
